God Won't Save His Angels
by Noil Tea
Summary: It's shortly after the war and everything seems to be going well. Quatre and Trowa are now living together but what's happened when Quatre's late one night? rewrite the original can be found under the pen name PanthersTear 3x4


Disclaimer: I do not own the characters used in this story they are the property of another. This is merely a written work of fiction designed to evoke an emotional response. It is for the enjoyment of others and myself alone that I write and not for personal profit in any way. So please enjoy my story and reveiw if you think it is worth your time, thank you. (this has been rewritten from my original work which can be found under the pen name panthers tear.)

God Won't Save His Angels

Trowa glanced nervously up at the clock which chimed gently striking the hour of eight. Two hours later then Quatre was suppsed to have been home. Biting his lip he turned off the stove which was heating to make their dinner. For little more then something to do he picked up a rag and began dusting. Quatre was almost never late, and never without a call three hours prior. Obsessively punctual and organized, he was a strange match for the more laid back post war life Trowa prefered but they seemed to make each other happy. No one had, in fact seen either of them as happy as they were now before after colony 195. While Trowa changed from job to job a little lost since leaving the circus and his sister Catherine Quatre worked tirelessly with Relena Peacecraft ensuring the peace. It was this bright little angel that kept Trowa sane in this post war society he had never known.

Trowa sighed softly running the cloth over a picture of Quatre's mother. He knew the blonde blamed himself for her death ever since he had discovered the truth of his birth. He failed to see how much a wonderful being like him stood to give this world, how much he had given it already. Trowa knew that deep down Quatre was hurting too but, angel of mercy that he was he put his own pains aside to help Trowa. It was typical of him to give anything to help others while doing so very little for himself. Being head of the winner family he had inherited quite a fortune but rarely got himself anything extravagent. In fact amusingly enough Trowa had discovered his favorite dinner was kraft dinner. Not that he could make it to save his life.

Any of Quatre's friends would tell you that since moving in with Trowa the youth, troubled though he was, was rarely without a wonderfully bright and cheery smile. Trowa knew he wouldn't be able to lean on Quatre's strength and borrow his smile forever but for now thats all he could do to keep himself straight. Ex-soldiers like the gundam pilots were not exactly welcomed in the new world... it was a little easier for Quatre to cope for he had known a life like this before but Trowa... all he'd ever seen was the battlefeild. It was going to take some time to adjust to day to day life.

The time of nine fourty two reflected from the clock face into a now spotless window by the time the telephone rang, a welcome interruption into Trowa's endless thoughts. However it was not a merry and apologetic voice which met Trowa's nervous hello but a sombre sounding woman asking for the man called Trowa Barton. Trowa's complexion paled a little and his words caught in his throat for a moment before he managed to choke out that he was speaking. He tried with all his might to keep the fear from his voice as the womans voice dropped softly into pity. "We are very sorry for your loss Trowa Barton... this is a courtesy call from the hospital... he didn't make it I am afraid."

All color abandoned Trowa as his startlingly green eyes widened in shock. He didn't make it? what had happened? Surely nothing ordinary could have taken such a precious being from this world. "Hello? Mr. Barton are you there?" Trowa blinked the secretary's voice jarring him back to reality. Perhaps he was wrong? Perhaps she was speaking of another he knew? "I... I am sorry... but who... who do you mean?" His voice shook slightly as deep down he somehow knew. He had known from the horrifying moment the phone rang. "Why young master Winner of course... surely you were informed... of his accident? I am told he was hit by a drunk driver..." All the words the secretary spoke after that fell on deaf ears as Trowa's eyes glazed over.

A drunk driver... was it even possible? How could such a thing kill one who had endured so much? This boy of the mere age of seventeen had been one of five to fight for the peace they were living in now... killed in a mere car accident? Trowa brought his knee's up, gently putting the phone back on it's cradle the secretary still speaking words of sympathy to deaf ears. He trembled gently for many hours ignoring the near constant ringing of the telephone. How could it be? Quatre... his bright angel... his light in the dark... how could any of this be real? He wondered for a breif moment if he was dreaming but someone had once told him there was no real pain in dreams... and this hurt worse then anything he had ever felt. Looking around at Quatre's meager possesions they all seemed to glow with a surreal beauty. They were his... and in a way, a part of him. Lifting the picture of Quatre's mother from the table he ran his thumb over it gently. He had never had the chance to be told it was not his fault. Never gotten to heal from his deep wounds.

Rising from his fetal position on the couch he seemed to glide about the room the consistently ringing phone sounding almost musical now. It was his. It was all his. All of this his own heart included had only hours previously belonged to a being so wonderful... almost angelic. A being that had been stolen unjustly from this world at the tender age of seventeen. He stopped, lifting a bejeweled dagger and fingering the blade. Had this too, been his? Trowa didn't recognize it but it must have been. he hugged it tight to his chest seemingly unaware of the deep cuts consistently pressing the sharp blade to his skin was causing. All seemed numb and meaningless. A meaningless pain. A meaningless exisitence.

He moved to the bathtub which was full of hot water. A gesture Trowa had prepared for Quatre thinking perhaps, that he might want to unwind after his late night. The clock in the living room chimed ten o clock as Trowa, still clothed, climbed into the bath still holding the dagger tight. It is said a wound placed under the water will continue to bleed and bleed until the wounded is no more. Trowa thought for a moment of how this was similar to Quatre's wounds that would now never heal. His last concious thought as he drifted slowly from this world of pain and remorse into the seemingly wonderously merciful world of death was thus.

The world is a harsh and unforgiving place. And life seems to mean so very little in it. For the man who had unknowingly stripped the world of such a pure and loving boy as Quatre was likely still alive. Those who sin will be forgiven and allowed to ascend into heaven, they are saved. But the almighty and supposedly merciful lord has proven time and again that god won't save his angels.


End file.
